


Before They Turn the Lights Out

by MachaSWicket



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: F/M, Season 6 Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-15
Updated: 2017-10-28
Packaged: 2019-01-17 22:07:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12375105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MachaSWicket/pseuds/MachaSWicket
Summary: SUMMARY:  Some late night conversations.SPOILERS for 6x01.





	1. The First Day

  
  


**The First Day**

 

Felicity is still sore and utterly exhausted when she gets back to her place. It’s dark and so, so quiet, but she’s  _ mostly _ too tired to even notice the faint air of abandonment. 

She showers to get the grime of international travel off of her and the lingering scent of smoke out of her hair, then barely manages to keep her eyes open long enough to pull on pajamas before flopping into bed. Haphazardly, she tugs the covers up, and she’s basically asleep when her phone trills. 

Clearly, her brain is still in crisis mode, because she’s sitting upright, eyes wide open, heart pounding when she grabs it and answers. “Oliver? What’s wrong? Do you need me to--”

“Hey, hey,” he interrupts, and just the soft calmness in his voice is enough to let her know nothing’s wrong. “Everything’s fine, I just...”

Felicity closes her eyes, inhaling slowly. “Okay,” she says, then melts back into the mattress, pulling the covers up to her chest and settling in. 

Oliver clears his throat, that anxious tick she recognizes from several important points of their relationship, and she freezes. “I know we talked a little bit on the plane,” he begins, “and I agree there’s too much upheaval in William’s life right now--”

“He needs to be your priority,” Felicity interjects, because she wants a future with Oliver -- hell, she wants a  _ now _ with Oliver, if she’s being honest -- but she has  _ been _ the kid losing a parent, she’s been the kid who has to adjust to a new life, a new school, a new routine. She’s only talked to William briefly, but she recognized his poorly disguised panic, his grief, his loneliness, and she wants nothing more for him than the nurturing kind of love she  _ knows _ Oliver can give him. 

“I know,” Oliver agrees. “I just -- I wanted to thank you for understanding that, and,” he continues, talking over her attempt to object, “I also wanted to, uh, to...” 

Felicity opens her eyes, frowning up at the ceiling. “Oliver?” she prompts.

“I need you to know that I love you,” he says in a rush, and Felicity’s grip on her phone tightens. “I never stopped loving you, actually, and I want this. Us. I want  _ you _ , and I just wanted to be very clear on that point. No misunderstandings.” Oliver is babbling nearly as badly as she does, and Felicity holds her breath so she doesn’t miss a syllable. “I know you said baby steps,” he continues, “and we agreed to kind of pause this for a little bit, but whenever you’re ready, I want us to be  _ us _ again. If... if you want that, too.”

Blinking back tears, Felicity is too overwhelmed for a few moments to answer. “Definitely,” she manages, her voice sounding all choked and water-logged. Because they may not be perfect, or perfectly settled, but for the first time in more than a year, she feels  _ secure _ in him. She presses her free hand to her chest, wanting nothing more than to hug Oliver tightly. “I definitely want that, too.”

“Good,” Oliver answers on a rush of breath. He huffs a relieved laugh. “Good,” he repeats. “I’m-- I still want us to talk about-- about what happened last year, and I need to apologize for--”

“Oliver,” Felicity interjects, because she is literally too tired for a gut-wrenching examination of all of their mistakes. “I know you’re sorry. We wouldn’t be having this conversation if I didn’t already know you won’t do the same things again. But I really don’t want to have the  _ what we did wrong _ conversation over the phone.”

There’s a moment of hesitation before he answers. “Okay.” He’s trying to sounds unaffected, but she can hear the note of uncertainty in his voice.

“I want to be holding your hand when we dig through the bad stuff,” she explains, because she wants Oliver to be rock-solid sure of her, too. “I’m going to need hugs, and you’re going to need hugs.”

His laugh this time is more from amusement than relief. “That’s true,” he says. “I’ve missed your hugs.” He pauses, clearing his throat, and she can so perfectly picture the look on his face as he’s bringing his emotions into check. “So what would you like to talk about over the phone?” he asks. “Because I’ve missed your voice, too. I’ve missed hearing about your day.”

Suddenly shy, Felicity brings the covers up over her head, cocooning herself and her phone and his voice. “I’ve missed your voice.  _ You _ you, not  _ grrr _ you.”

He laughs softly, and it warms her heart. “So, Felicity,” he murmurs, using the late night voice she only ever heard in their shared bed, “tell me about your day.”

She grins, rolling onto her side and putting the phone on speaker, lying it on the pillow beside her. And she starts to talk.

 

_end chapter one_   



	2. The First Week

 

**The First Week**

 

Felicity is so focused on creating and refining her plans, she completely misses how late it’s gotten. 

She doesn’t have an MBA, but she learned a lot about running a business as Oliver’s EA, and even more when she took over Palmer Tech. Also, she’s, like, crazy smart, so she knows she has the intellectual resources to start her own tech company. It’s just a very time-consuming, labor intense kind of project. But that’s exactly what she wants after her latest near-death experience on Lian Yu.

Plus, putting all of this time and energy into her nascent company is a good way to occupy the free time she would rather be spending having tons of sex with Oliver, now that they’re… sort of back together.

Or maybe not  _ back together _ , but definitely in agreement that they  _ want _ to be back together. And will be, as soon as William has adjusted at least a little to life in Star City.

What better time to plan and launch her own company than when her ex-fiance and soon-to-be boyfriend is spending every non-vigilante-ing waking moment at City Hall or trying to win over his adolescent son?

So, yes, she has the time and energy to build a business plan from scratch, and try to estimate how much capital she’ll need to get off the ground, and pick a suite of projects to begin with; it’s pretty exciting! 

And a lot of work. A  _ lot _ of work.

But exciting!

So exciting that she doesn’t notice her phone ringing at first. 

When it does register, she jolts upright, blinking as she takes in the fact that it’s dark out now. And also that she’s  _ really _ hungry. 

Her phone rings again, and she smiles at Oliver’s face before answering. “Oliver, hi.”

“Hey,” he greets her softly. “Do you have a minute?”

Felicity tilts her head, taking another look at what she’s accomplished over the last -- oh, frak -- seven hours.  _ How  _ is it already after ten? When did that happen? “Of course.”

“We didn’t talk much earlier, so I thought I’d call and...” he pauses, “uh, see how things are?”

It occurs to Felicity that this is at least the fourth night that Oliver’s called her in the week since their return from Lian Yu. The first few times, he’d had some reason to call -- a question or something to follow up on from the evening. Tonight, though, he seems to be calling just to call -- no pretext, no rationale. The idea warms her, and she grins at the wall.

“Good,” Felicity answers. “Things are good. I just got a little caught up working on some technology.”

“The new comms you were talking about?” he guesses.

“Hang on.” Felicity stands from her seat, stretches out muscles she hadn’t even realized were cramped and tight because she was so absorbed by her work. For  _ seven hours _ . She groans a little with the stretch, then she pulls the phone back to her ear and wanders towards the couch. “No, not the comms,” she says. “I’ve been thinking...” She trails off, unsure how to broach this topic with him. 

“Thinking?” Oliver prompts, and he sounds unhurried and calm and  _ interested _ in whatever has caught her attention. God, she’s missed the simple easiness they once had between them. “About what?”

Felicity curls up in the corner of the couch, relaxing her body into the cushions. “I’m not sure what you’re going to think about this,” she confesses, “which is why I’ve been a little reluctant to tell you.”

“Tell me what?” Now he sounds concerned.

“Well, I think it’s pretty clear Palmer Tech is out of my grasp,” she explains. This is still one of her biggest regrets of the recent past -- for herself, because she was an awesome CEO and could’ve done some really good things with Palmer Tech,  _ and  _ for Oliver, because she lost control of what was originally his family’s company. “The Board is just not willing to bring me back, and my ownership stake isn’t enough for me to out-vote them, so--”

“So you want to do something else,” he surmises, because he knows her. 

She wonders if he’d noticed her restlessness for the past few months, the isolating sense of aimlessness. “Yes,” she agrees. “I... I think I want to start my own company.” She frowns, mostly at herself for couching what she knows she wants in equivocation, and restates her desire. “I mean, I  _ do _ want to start my own company. I want to decide what we produce, and how to balance profit with doing some actual good in the world.”

There’s a moment of silence, and then Oliver says, “Felicity, whatever you choose to do next, you will be amazing.”

Relief and happiness flood her chest, but there’s more to this conversation. She needs him to understand what the sacrifices she’ll have to make  _ are _ before he gives his support. “Thank you. But, Oliver, I would have to sell some of my Palmer Tech stock to get this idea off the ground.”

“Okay,” he answers slowly, and she can hear the confusion in his voice. 

“It’s your family’s company,” she explains in a rush. “At least it  _ was _ , and Ray signing his stock over to me gave us the opportunity to hold on to it, until I got fired. And now, if I sell some of my shares, you’ll lose even more of what should be William’s legacy.”

She holds her breath for Oliver’s reaction, but he takes a long, agonizing moment to process before he speaks. She’s been worried about this for months -- the idea of starting her own shop isn’t new, but she’s always been able to talk herself out of it for one reason or another. She doesn’t have the funding, and she still feels a little weird about Ray signing over his ownership stake in the first place, but even if she gets past that strangeness, she feels an obligation to Oliver and Thea and now William to preserve what should really still be  _ theirs _ .

Her confused feelings only got more mixed up as the tense distance grew between her and Oliver -- she’s been torn between what she wants for herself, and what she wants for some of her favorite people in the world. It’s only in the wake of Adrian Chase’s mind games and her dark spiral with Helix that Felicity has been able to --  _ mostly  _ \-- square what she wants with what she wants for Oliver’s family. Now she just needs him to agree.

“Felicity,” Oliver says finally, “ _ I _ lost our majority ownership of Queen Consolidated, and  _ I  _ wasn’t able to persuade the Board to choose me over Ray. Your stocks are yours to do with as you please--”

“But we used to talk about this, Oliver,” she interrupts. “We talked about trying to regain majority ownership in the company once we--” She stops short, swallowing the references to their once-impending marriage, because whatever they have now, they’re nowhere near a discussion about weddings. “Uh, I mean,” she stumbles through redirecting her words, “I know you liked that the possibility was out there to get the company back for the Queen family, and--”

“Felicity, please listen to me,” he implores, and she closes her mouth with a snap. “I wholeheartedly support you building something of your own, something you can direct with that amazing mind of yours. I have no problems with you selling off your Palmer Tech stock. In fact, there’s some possibility that I could buy at least a little of it back. Or,” he continues, before she can react, “I could be an angel investor for -- what are you planning to call it?”

Felicity blinks. “What?”

“Your company,” Oliver clarifies, humor suffusing his voice. “What do you want to call it?”

“Uh, I’m not really sure yet,” she hedges, feeling the strange flush of embarrassment on her face. “Maybe Smoak Technologies?”

“Smoak Technologies,” Oliver repeats with relish. “I love it, Felicity.”

“You do?”

“Absolutely,” he assures her. “And I really would like to be your first investor.”

“On your municipal employee’s salary?” she teases.

“You know I still have the trust fund,” he shoots back. He’s no longer anywhere close to a billionaire, but he’s got a few million in the trust that his mother created upon his return from Lian Yu.

“I know.” Felicity shakes her head a little bit, still attempting to process the conversational turn. She’d honestly expected... well, at least a  _ little  _ broodiness and angst from Oliver at the thought of losing more of his family’s company. “So you aren’t upset?”

“I’m in awe of you,” he answers. “But that’s nothing new.”

Felicity laughs in response, a mix of relief and embarrassment and more than a little bit of pride. “You,” she announces, tugging the throw from the back of the couch to cover her legs, “are a sap, Oliver Queen.”

He huffs a laugh in response. “Okay.”

“Don’t worry,” she says, feeling lighter than she has in a while, “it looks good on you.”

“Oh, yeah?” Oliver asks, and his mildly flirtatious tone speeds her pulse.

“Definitely,” she answers, matching his tone, and giving herself a mental high five when he sucks in a breath.

“Tell me about Smoak Technologies,” Oliver implores. “I want to hear all about it.”

Felicity settles more firmly into the couch and closes her eyes. “This could take a while,” she warns him.

“I’ve got all night.”

 

_end chapter two_   



	3. The First Month

 

  
  


**The First Month**

  
  


The time Felicity spends with Thea is difficult.

Because Thea -- snarky, headstrong, wounded-but-not-broken Thea -- is in a coma. She’s drifting quietly somewhere Felicity can’t follow, lying eerily still, breathing with the aid of a ventilator, and there’s no telling what the outcome will be.

But Felicity has read about comas, and the benefits of keeping the person engaged and updated as much as possible. So whenever she can, Felicity comes to Thea’s bedside, sometimes with nail polish or dry shampoo or some truly garish fuzzy slipper socks for Thea’s feet, which she describes in detail in a sort of taunt so that Thea will wake up just to take them off. Oh, and Felicity always brings a book to read aloud. First up:  _ Harry Potter _ , because duh.

Felicity tries her best to be nothing but positive and engaging, to keep all of the bad memories of this hospital out of her voice, but she’s not sure she always succeeds. After all, this is the hospital where she woke up without use of her legs, and endured multiple spinal surgeries to lessen her pain and try to restore function. This is the place she left in a wheelchair, her life changed in many ways, regardless of the fact that a miracle from Curtis has let her walk again.

It’s hard, coming back here, because of her memories; it’s harder to leave, because of Thea’s reality. But it’s nearly eleven, and she’s already stretched the visiting hours as much as possible, so Felicity kisses Thea’s forehead, squeezes her hand, and leaves, tucking  _ Prisoner of Azkaban _ into her bag. 

She waves to Cedric and Jennifer and Sandra as she walks past the nurse’s station, and scrolls through her notifications in the elevator.

A month ago, the missed call from Oliver would’ve sent her heart rate skyrocketing under the assumption she’s missed something urgent. Tonight, though, she just smiles at her phone before tucking it into her jacket pocket. Because they do this, now; they check in with daily phone calls, even if they've spent time together in the bunker with the team.

Once she’s in her car and out of the parking garage, Felicity taps a button on the display and says, “Call Oliver.” The radio fades out as the call goes through.

He answers on the second ring. “Hey.”

Just the sound of his voice filling the car, steady and sure, calms her. “Hey,” she answers. “Sorry I missed you earlier. I was reading to Thea.”

“Is she--?”

“No change,” Felicity interrupts, so he doesn’t have the ask the question aloud. She knows how much Thea’s condition weighs on him. Cedric and Sandra have even mentioned Oliver’s frequent visits -- he goes whenever he can between meetings, on his way to the bunker, occasionally early in the morning before he’s due at City Hall. 

“She looks good, though,” Felicity adds. “Her color is good and the bruising is basically gone.” The coma is, best the doctors can tell, the result of a traumatic brain injury Thea sustained in the blast; she’d had visible, scary bruising around her left temple, and along her left arm, plus a couple of cracked ribs, suggesting the concussive blast propelled her into something hard. The bruising is mostly gone now, and Felicity’s unreasonably disappointed that the evident healing hasn’t (yet) included Thea coming out of the coma.

“Yeah.” Oliver doesn’t say anything else, which is indication enough that his thoughts are dark tonight. He used to do this sometimes when they lived together; there were nights where he’d be quiet and withdrawn, nights where he’d carefully rebuff her attempts to talk, where he’d struggle to sleep and then wake with nightmares; where he’d suffer inside himself.

They’re working to rebuild the trust and honesty between them, but she’s still not sure she fully believe he  _ does _ want to share everything with her. Her familiarity with his isolationist coping mechanisms plus her own lingering self-doubt makes her hesitate to push him -- the last thing she wants to do is push him away.

“Are you okay?” Felicity asks carefully. 

Oliver’s laugh is strained. “Sure.” It’s a brush off, a dismissal of her question -- of her  _ concern  _ \-- and if Felicity is being honest, it stings a little. Too bad for him that sometimes her stubbornness outweighs her insecurity. “That’s not very convincing,” she tells him. The challenge is evident in her voice, and she refuses to break the silence that falls after she speaks.

When she reaches the traffic light by the loft, tears are threatening and she barely resists the urge to sniffle. 

Finally,  _ finally _ Oliver speaks. “I’m sorry. I just-- I’m feeling a little...” He trails off, his voice shaky.

“Oliver, do you want me to come over?” She’s waiting in the right-hand turn lane, half a block from her apartment, but she is more than willing to loop around and head back to his place if he needs her. 

“No, no, I’m okay.” He sighs, and she can practically hear him settling in to talk to her. “Tonight was difficult. With William.”

“Oh.” It’s a good thing she’s pulling into her familiar parking garage because her thoughts whirl into a big, confusing mess at Oliver’s confession and she can’t focus on anything else. She knows it’s been difficult for Oliver, trying to be a full-time parent to a grieving ten year old. But he hasn’t really discussed things with her -- not in detail, anyway. And she doesn’t really know what to say. Or how to help. 

“I’m not a parent" she blurts. "I mean,  _ obviously _ \-- but it’s only been a month since he lost his mother. And he was held by a super psycho, and he witnessed the explosions that killed his mom, and  _ also _ he had his whole life uprooted -- again -- and is now living with a guy who he only just learned is his dad.” She stops herself with a wince. “Sorry, that was... not helpful.” 

She steps out of her car, heading for the elevator and expecting Oliver to find a reason to end this conversation, and probably decide never to try to discuss parenting-related topics with her again. No wonder he hasn’t been talking much to her about William.

“No, no, it’s okay,” Oliver reassures her. “I’m a little bit in the trenches, and sometimes I forget... the full scope.”

And there’s the familiar self-blame in his voice “Oliver, none of that is your fault.  _ None _ of it. Adrian Chase--” She spits the name-- “is the obsessive psychopath who put all of those things in motion.” She frowns, stepping into the elevator. “Not you being William’s father. Obviously.  _ You _ put that in motion. You and Samantha. Which,” she continues, smacking herself in the forehead, “is a completely inappropriate thing to say considering the circumstances.”

Somehow that gets an almost laugh out of him. “It’s fine, Felicity. I just… don’t know how to get through to him.”

“Patience and determination,” she tells him, “which I happen to know that you have in spades.”

“Patience?” he echoes skeptically. “Who has ever called me patient?”

“After my paralysis,” she answers, stepping off the elevator and heading down the hallway towards her front door, “you went to every single one of my PT sessions, and you let me vent and cry all over you and you let me push you away when I needed to, because you are a patient man, and you will do anything for the people you love. Give William a chance to settle in, to see that you mean it and that you’re gonna be here for him. Every day.”

“I’m trying, but I’m--” He stops, expels a frustrated breath-- “ _ impatient _ ,” he admits, “which I know is stupid. And counterproductive. But it’s-- It’s so hard. I can see how much he’s hurting and I would do anything to help, but he won’t even talk to me.” His voice is low and pained, and she wants nothing more than to hug him for an hour.

“I’m sorry,” she murmurs. Closing the door behind her, Felicity steps out of her heels and heads directly for the couch, dropping her bag on the table. “I can’t imagine how hard that is. But, Oliver, if you provide stability and keep trying to reach him, eventually you will.”

“You think?” 

“When my dad--” Felicity sighs, shifting a little to get comfortable curled up against a throw pillow in the corner of the couch. “When  _ I thought _ my dad left us, it knocked my world sideways. I was really withdrawn and really sad, and no matter what my mother tried, I just… I  _ couldn’t _ deal with it yet. I hid in my books and my coding, but she still tried. She was working impossible hours at the casino, but she  _ still _ made sure we ate dinner together almost every night.” Felicity smiles at the cigarette-scented memories of the second-rate Safari Casino. “Even if that meant a quick dinner at the back bar when she was on break.” 

“I remember the pictures,” he tells her, and, yup, she still regrets the three days they spent in Vegas with Donna that summer. “You were adorable.”

“Thank you,” Felicity answers with a grin. “But my point is that it took months and months for her to get through my defenses. And even if I didn’t really understand it then, the fact that she  _ kept _ trying to reach me, to love me the way I needed to be loved? I  _ felt _ it. William’s world got knocked sideways, too, but he’ll be able to feel that you love him. He’ll realize it, Oliver.”

Oliver’s voice is rough and watery when he manages, “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she tells him. And, God, she hopes she’s right. She doesn't know William well, but how could anyone resist the power of Oliver's support and love? She has to believe William will grieve and heal and adjust to this new life, adjust to the idea of having a father, of Oliver. She has to believe William will come to love Oliver. 

There’s a comfortable silence, and then Felicity asks the question she’s wanted to ask for weeks now. “Will you tell me about him?”

“About William?” Oliver asks, sounding surprised by her request.

“Yes,” she answers shyly. She wants to know everything about the boy who’s such an integral part of the man she loves. She wants to spend time with the boy who she hopes will come to like her, maybe even to love her. She wants to know the boy she expects will one day be her stepson. But she can’t say any of that to Oliver -- not yet. She believes they will be together forever, but she also believes, now more than ever, that Oliver's focus needs to be on building his relationship with his son, not rebuilding the broken pieces between her and him. She can't get to know William in person yet, but she still wants to know him better. “Tell me about your son.”

“I… I don’t know what to say,” Oliver confesses.

Felicity recognizes that Oliver is bogged down in his anxiety, his excruciating day-to-day attempts to talk to William. Maybe she can help him remember how much he already knows about his son; maybe they can figure out some things Oliver and William have in common.

“You spent time with him before,” Felicity points out, her voice gentle despite the pain she associates with that time in their relationship. This isn’t about her and Oliver right now; this is about Oliver and his son. “All I know about him is that he looks a lot like you and he loves the Flash. Tell me more.”

“Okay,” Oliver says. “Okay, I can do that.”

  
  


_ end chapter three _


	4. The First Year

**The First Year**

  
  


Felicity is still kind of new (and probably pretty bad?) at this parenting thing, but she learned quickly that seeing fear and grief in the kid whose physical and emotional health is in your hands is the actual worst.

William’s nightmares have lessened considerably in the year since his mother’s death, but it seems the turmoil of the all-out battle between Team Arrow and Cayden James brought William’s demons rushing back.

Felicity’s, too, if she’s being honest, because she remembers well her own role in letting Cayden go free. Because she has  _ more _ souls on her conscience as a result. And so: nightmares.

But her own bad dreams are orders of magnitude less upsetting than seeing her eleven-year-old stepson scared and crying, curled defensively in a ball near the headboard of his ridiculously oversized bed. The sight breaks her heart.

She says his name quietly, but he just looks up at her mutely, tears on his cheeks, before curling back up. 

Felicity hesitates in the doorway to his room, wishing Oliver was back from the now semi-annual trip to another remote ARGUS facility for dangerous offenders. So Felicity is here, Oliver is not, and William is upset.

Resolved, she moves into the room and sits on the edge of his bed. “William, you’re safe here, but it’s okay to be scared,” she tells him, laying a comforting hand on his back. “It’s okay to cry.”

“I know,” he mutters, his words muffled. He sniffles, and she glances around in search of the kleenex box. William’s kind of a messy cryer, just like she is.

“Here,” she says, handing him three tissues.

“Thank you.” He presses his face into the tissues and she knows he’s hiding from her, but isn’t sure how hard she should push him to talk about it. While Felicity knows William  _ likes  _ her, she’s been conscious of avoiding anything that could seem like an attempt to take over Samantha’s place in his life and his heart. 

Felicity helps nurture William’s smarts, plays video games with him, and gives him liberal hugs.  _ All  _ the hugs. In fact, he’s nearly as good of a hugger as his father, and now that he’s adjusted to living in Star City with his dad and stepmom, William is a pretty affectionate kid. And they have a surprising amount of interests in common, and an easy dynamic. So yeah. Felicity makes sure William knows she unequivocally loves him, but she also lets Oliver take the lead on the heavy emotional lifting, since he’s still learning new things about being the father of a boy whose mother died.

Which means that usually Oliver is the one who talks to him after nightmares. She’s not sure William will want to talk to her about it, but she’s not really one to sit back passively when someone she loves is hurting.

“You know,” she tells William, rubbing the soothing circles on his back, “when your dad has nightmares, he says hugs make him feel better.” William doesn’t take the bait; at least not yet. But he shifts a little, and she takes the opening to smooth his stubborn cowlick. Almost time for a haircut, she notes absently. “And I  _ definitely _ feel better when I get hugs after I wake up from nightmares.”

William doesn’t respond aloud, but his body uncurls a little, enough so he can look at her over his shoulder. 

Felicity tilts her head in an unspoken question, lifting her free arm in offer. She doesn’t have the gargantuan wingspan of her husband, but she thinks she gives pretty awesome hugs.

After deliberating for what Felicity thinks is an unreasonable amount of time -- who doesn’t like hugs when they’re upset? -- William shifts, sitting up and tilting into her embrace. She wraps her arms tightly around him, rubbing his back the way her mom used to do for her when she was little. He’s still fighting his tears, and she rests her cheek on the top of his head. “I’ve got you,” she tells him, and he breaks.

He’s not really a little boy anymore. He’s growing like crazy, his limbs longer than he knows how to handle, and his voice is deeper than it has any business being. But in other ways, he’s still so very young. As Williams sobs in her arms, Felicity finds herself crying, too -- and not because she’s a sympathetic crier. This bright boy that she loves dearly is scared and in pain, and it hurts her that she can’t  _ fix it _ for him. 

“I know,” she says, because she never really can keep her mouth shut, “it sucks when your brain decides to focus on the bad stuff.”

“It does suck,” he mumbles into her shoulder, a spark of anger in his voice. William tends to channel his hurt and his grief into anger, a process Felicity is quite familiar with. She’s not at all surprised when he fiercely declares, “I hate it.”

She hugs him tight. “Will it make it better if you tell me about it?” she asks gently. She’s pretty sure she knows what most of his nightmares are about, but it might help him to talk about it a little bit. “Maybe get it off your chest?”

He shakes his head, but answers anyway. “It’s the same. It’s always the same.” He hesitates, his voice low and shaky when he adds, “My mom dying.”

“Oh, honey.” Felicity’s arms tighten around him and she rocks them a little back and forth. “I’m so sorry I couldn’t save your mom,” she tells him, and it’s the truth. She doesn’t like to think what a different outcome back on Lian Yu would’ve done to Oliver and she certainly wants to stick around another fifty or sixty years, but if she could’ve done something to spare William this heartache, she would’ve. “I’m sorry your brain keeps making you think about her loss, instead of letting you focus on the years you had with her. I didn’t know your mom for very long, but I know how much she loved you, William.”

“I know,” he mutters, his broken little heart evident in the way his voice shakes. “I want her back.”

Felicity closes her eyes, swallowing back her own sorrow on his behalf. “I know.”

He cries a little longer, until his sobs turn to sniffles and his body goes slack and heavy against her. Felicity waits a while, wanting to make sure he’s solidly asleep before she eases him back onto his pillow. Carefully, she wipes his face with Kleenex, then smoothes his hair. 

She pulls his blankets up around him, fussing way more than necessary, because she just really loves this kid.

When she emerges from his room, closing the pocket door behind her, she makes a beeline to her phone. Unsurprisingly, she’s missed a few texts from Oliver. 

_ All locked up. We’re headed to the airport _ . 

_ Lyla says ETA is just before 2 a.m. I’ll be careful not to wake you. _

_ Love you, hon. _

She hits the phone icon. 

Oliver answers quickly. “Hey.” 

She relaxes just a bit when she hears his voice. “Hey,” she answers, turning lights off as she makes her way to their bedroom. She definitely loves living with her husband and stepson, but this late night phone conversation reminds her of those tentative, longing-filled days last summer when they’d talk every night, rebuilding their trust and their relationship word by word. 

“Everything okay?” Oliver asks, because he’s Oliver, and he’s still very aware of worst case scenarios.

She flops onto their giant comfy bed and grins at the ceiling. “You’re the one escorting several dangerous criminals to a super-secret spy prison -- which, by the way, I’ve been meaning to ask: does this count as extraordinary rendition? Because I have a lot of thoughts on governmental overreach and--”

“Hon,” he interrupts, gently steering her out of her conversational cul-de-sac.

“Right.” She nods at the ceiling and recalibrates her mouth. “You’re the one doing the dangerous stuff today -- everything okay there?”

“All good,” he assures her. He also spares her details, because he knows how much guilt and regret she feels about Cayden James. “How are things on the homefront?”

She snorts at his well-worn joke -- Oliver loves nothing more than the fact that he, William, and Felicity have formed this functioning little family, complete with what he insists on calling the homefront whenever he’s not physically in the apartment. She wonders sometimes how she ever thought Oliver Queen was unrelentingly cool when he is, in fact, such a marshmallow-filled dork. “Things are fine,” she answers automatically. Then she frowns. “Well..."

Instantly, the easy tone is gone, replaced by Oliver’s worry. “What happened?”

“William’s okay,” she answers, because that’s the important part. “He had a nightmare about Samantha, but we cried it out and he’s asleep.” Oliver starts to speak, then stops. Felicity waits, but he’s silent. “Oliver?”

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there,” he answers in that guilt-soaked tone that she really, really hates.

“No apologies,” she says, probably a little too harshly. “You were right where you needed to be, and maybe I was, too.”

“How do you mean?” He sounds genuinely curious, which is light years better than self-flagellating, so she’ll take it.

She shifts a little, tucking her feet under the blanket thrown across the foot of their bed. “I just think that maybe it’s a good thing that it was me tonight.” She hears what she said, which doesn’t quite convey what she  _ meant _ , and hurries to correct the wrong conclusion her husband is certainly drawing. “For me, I mean. Maybe it was a good thing for me, so that I can figure out how to be better at this. How to be supportive of William when he needs it.”

“You  _ are _ supportive,” Oliver protests, and he clearly doesn’t understand what she’s trying to say.

“Not, like,  _ computer programming tutor _ supportive, Oliver. I just mean--” She stops short, gnawing on her lip for a moment. “I’m still figuring out some things,” she admits. Because she loves William like crazy, but before his arrival in their life, she hadn’t seriously considered parenthood. Not in the near term, anyway. More like a vague  _ someday maybe _ kind of thing. And while the helpless-and-crying-and-pooping newborn stage of child-rearing doesn’t sound like all that much fun, at least it would be some kind of on-the-job training. She feels like she got tossed into the deep end with a stepson who’s had more than his fair share of loss and trauma. She still feels inadequate and unprepared, which are two of her very least favorite feelings --  _ especially  _ when she’s inadequate and unprepared for one of the most important things she’ll do in her entire life. 

“Like how to parent,” she explains. “How to be what William needs without stepping on his toes, or making him resent me for trying to be his mother when I’m obviously not.”

“Felicity--”

“Maybe,” she continues, because now that she’s started she can’t seem to stop, “I’ve been hanging back for the tough stuff because you’re doing awesome, and obviously the relationship between the two of you is the most important, and so it just made sense for you to be his support, and for me to, you know,  _ hang back _ a little so--”

“ _ Felicity _ .”

She blinks, halting the torrent of insecurity in word form. “Yeah?”

“You’re my wife,” Oliver says, as if that statement of fact is, in itself, some kind of answer.

“I know?” Because  _ duh _ , but also, that doesn’t really address her very reasonable points.

“There is no  _ more important _ in our family,” Oliver tells her, sounding very resolute and certain. “You and William, and any kids we decide to have--”  _ Wow _ , does her stomach do drunken loops at those words-- “we’re a family. There’s no hierarchy, Felicity.” He’s using his passionate, vow-making voice, and Felicity holds her breath. “I would do anything for either of you.”

She blinks away the tears in her eyes and tries to keep her voice steady. “I know that, Oliver. And I would do anything for either of you. I just want to make sure William knows that, too. But what if I’m screwing it all up? It occurred to me tonight that William might think he  _ can’t _ lean on me, and that’s the  _ last  _ thing I would ever want. I want him to know for absolute certain that he can lean on me for anything, and I want to be worthy of that.”

“Worthy?” Oliver echoes, sounding a little stunned and breathless.

“Yeah,” she tries to explain, “I realize now, as an adult, how much my mother sacrificed for me and how much she loves me, but part of that sacrifice was working.  _ A lot _ . I was a weird kid anyway, and I spent a lot of time alone, and sometimes I feel like I missed out on learning what moms are  _ supposed _ to be like, and--”

“Felicity, honey, William loves you, and you’re so, so good with him.”

She waits a moment, lets his words settle into her chest, lets herself interpret his tone of voice. He’s not lying; she can tell he believes in the absolute truth of what he’s saying, and that helps ease some of her fears. “Are you sure?” she asks. 

“Positive,” he answers immediately. “And, Felicity, you don’t need to be what a mother is  _ supposed _ to be -- whatever that even is -- to be William’s mother.”

“Stepmother,” she corrects quickly. 

There’s a pause, then Oliver says, “Let me put this another way:  I understand that Samantha’s death and William’s years with her and without us makes this situation a lot more complicated and confusing sometimes.” Felicity huffs a little in agreement, and Oliver continues, “But if you are this kind and optimistic and supportive and  _ loving _ with any future kids we may have, they will be the luckiest kids in the world. Just like William is. You're doing  _fine_ , Felicity. Trust me."

Felicity blinks desperately, but the tears leak out anyway. “Oliver...” Her throat closes over whatever she can’t find the words to express anyway. And, yeah, this sudden, fierce need to hug her husband even though he's really, really far away right now? That’s definitely the downside of these little late night chats in different locations. She exhales roughly. “So when do you get here?”

Oliver huffs a laugh. “A couple hours,” he tells her. “Sorry I made you cry.”

“It’s a crying kind of night,” she answers with a genuine smile. Their conversation was unexpectedly emotional, but she does feel a little better now. A little more convinced she’s doing at least some things right with William.

“Maybe,” Oliver allows, “but I don’t like the idea of you crying alone.”

“You’ve got great shoulders,” she tells him. Because crying sucks, but it's less upsetting when she can lean on him. “Hurry home.”

She can hear the ambient noise from his end of the call increase suddenly, and she recognizes the sound of airplane engines. “Felicity,” Oliver begins. “I’m at the airport.”

“Have a safe flight,” she tells him. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” he answers. “And I’ll be home soon.”

“We’ll be here,” she tells him. It’s a promise, but it’s also a simple statement of fact. Because he’s right -- they may still be figuring things out, but they’re a family. 

 

THE END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote about half of this chapter before 6x03 aired, and then had to revise some of what I was thinking about to capture the dynamic between Felicity and William, which I actually liked. It was probably the first beat of this wretched storyline that I actually *did* enjoy, tbh. The chasm between what the writers were trying to do with this and what ended up on screen over the past ~2 years is... considerable. So here I am trying to make it make sense in my brain with fic, results TBD.


End file.
